SPN fanfiction - Jack driving Baby? - Trouble is coming
by spnfanfromeurope
Summary: Jack is driving Baby? Uoh, what does Dean think of that? Inspired by a fan question at SFcon 17 – the idea of Jack driving the Impala was enough to drop this story into my brain fully formed. Be warned, this contains punishment spanking, no smut, no ships, and not much else either. I own nothing, I just play around in the sandbox.


It was wonderful. It was glorious. He had never known that something so seemingly mundane could be so absolutely thrilling. Jack leaned his head back and laughed in sheer amazed joy. Finally, he understood what all those movies about cars, and fast driving, were going on about.

He felt the car skid a bit, as he took the last corner, pulling up in front of the bunker. He'd come into the curve slightly too fast and had to hit the brakes hard to avoid hitting the dark figure, that suddenly loomed up in front of the car, right in the middle of the dirt road.

Next thing he knew, the door was ripped open, and a large hand grabbed him by the neck, tore him out of the car, pulled him two steps forward and almost lifted him off the ground. He stared into Deans face, feeling suddenly very small and fragile. Dean was absolutely vibrating with rage. He shook Jack, roughly, making him dangle bonelessly.

He pulled Jack further up, and dropped his head so they were literally nose to nose:  
"You. Stole. My. CAR!"

He shook Jack again, and turned, fast. Jack felt his feet leave the ground, as Dean more or less tossed him through the air, dropping him halfway up the hood of the car.  
Dean finally let got of his neck, but the relief was short, as he heard the unmistakable hiss of a leather belt getting pulled through the loops of a pair of old jeans. Jack had just enough time to gasp in a lungful of air before the first stroke hit. Dean kept the doubled-up belt moving, fast and fierce, neatly patterned strokes from the top of Jack's ass to the middle of his thighs.  
Jack's breathing was already ragged and gasping after the first round, and after the second, he was scrabbling frantically for something to hold on to. There was a short respite, almost enough to let him think that it was over, then Dean said harshly: "Drop your damn jeans, boy."

Jack froze for an instant, completely unable to move. His hands started shaking, and he fumbled with his belt trying to get it undone. He heard Dean make a sound that could only be described as a growl, and as soon as he had gotten his jeans unbuttoned, Dean grabbed them with one hand, pulling them down to his knees, while at the same time using his other hand to shove Jack back down on the hood of the car. Jack landed with a woof of surprise. He didn't even have time to gasp the air back in before Dean had started up with the belt again. Smack after smack in the same pattern as before, down from ass to thighs and back up, down, up, down it went, until Jack was not only dancing in place, but had one wrist between his teeth and the other curled over the back of his head, holding on to his own hair for lack of anything else to grab.

He found himself starting to sob quietly, tears rolling down his cheeks. The utter joy of driving fast aside, this was not a price he had anticipated to pay for his spontaneous idea of going for spin in Dean's car.

He realized that Dean had stopped hitting him with the belt at some point - he wasn't sure when, as his ass and thighs were still throbbing rhythmically, but he heard Dean huffing as he rustled with getting the belt back in place. Then a hand shook his shoulder.

"You can get up now, kid."

Jack slowly stood up. His legs were shaking, and the world seemed to be sort of spinning a little first one way, then the other. Dean shook his shoulder again, staring intently into his face.

"You ok, kid?"

Jack nodded and wiped his face.  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, Dean."

"You better be," was the gruff answer, but at the same time, Dean pulled him into a hug.  
"Listen, new rule, kid. You steal my car, you get spanked. You hear me?"

Jack nodded into Deans shoulder. Leaned a bit against the large man, who had so unexpectedly become part of his family, reveling in the implied forgiveness of being hugged.

"Good, and if you want to learn how to drive – I'll teach you. But *not* in my baby. Get it?"

Jack nodded again.

Dean pushed him back a bit. "Ok, then. All forgiven, blank slate. But you, you go to your room, and stay there. You are grounded."

"Grounded?"

"Yes, that means that you stay in your room until the person who grounded you, that would be me, says that you can come back out. Understood?"

Jack nodded. It was a simple enough concept, besides, he felt tired and wouldn't mind resting for a while. Preferably lying on his belly. He winced through getting his jeans back up, the rough fabric seemed to rasp off a layer of skin, and he gave up entirely on closing the fly and belt. At the toss of Dean's head, he began to make his careful way into the bunker.

He had just managed to get his jeans off and had gingerly crawled onto the bed, lying on his front, when Sam came in. He stopped in the door, and stared.

"What in all creation happened to you, Jack?"

"I took a drive in Dean's car."

"You did what? Are you insane?"

"Well, he did seem to be rather upset about it."

"I'd say. Last time I stole his car, he punched me in the face. "

Jack wriggled uncomfortably and muttered: "I think, I'd have preferred that."

Sam grinned at him "Belt?"

"Yep"

"Where is he now?"

"I think he is putting the car in the garage."

"Probably. Are you ok?"

"I'll be fine, just sore."

"Good thing you didn't crash the car. Wow, I wouldn't even like to think about that!"

"Uhmm…"

Sam's face drained of blood. "Wait, you didn't, did you? I mean, listen, the car is ok, right?"

"Well, uhm, I might have sort of … well, you see, there was this tree, and I was driving backwards and…"

"Does Dean know that?"

"Uhm no, I didn't have time to tell him before he…" Jack waved a hand towards his backside.

Sam gulped and opened his mouth, not really knowing what to say, but as he was looking for words the bunker suddenly rang with a sound not dissimilar to that of a lion sitting down on an uncommonly prickly thornbush.

Jack and Sam looked at each other, the words "Oh, shit" clear on their faces, even though unsaid.

Sam sprang into action. "Get some pants on." He tossed a pair of old sweats over to Jack. "Do you know were Cas is?"

Jack nodded.

"Can you teleport directly to him?"

"Yes."

"Do so, now!"

"But Dean said that I should stay in my room?"

"I'll handle Dean, just get out of here, now!"

Jack suddenly looked as afraid as he had the first couple of days with them. "Will he kill me?"

"Of course not, don't be silly. But unless you want another ass-kicking on top of the one you just got, you better get out of here. Go to Cas, He'll keep you safe while Dean calms down. Tell him you dented the Impala, tell him, I said: 'Poughkeepsie for a few days.' He'll know what that means."

They both heard the sound of heavy footsteps running full tilt through the hallways of the bunker and Jack found that even with a burning ass he was capable of pulling on a pair of sweatpants quite fast.

He grabbed his jacket just as the door crashed open and Sam tossed himself into the path of his brother. The two men collided chest to chest with a hollow 'Fump,' already pushing and shoving each other. Sam shouted "Go" over his shoulder.

Angry beyond the capacity to make a coherent sentence Dean spluttered:  
"You, you, you.. My Baby… dents... whole back end..… you ... it's .. you don't….. taillights…. Bumper… never… MY CAR."

Jack gaped at them. For two highly dangerous men, trained hunters, killers, they fought like boys, wrestling each other, until they overbalanced and ended up rolling around on the ground, Sam trying with all his might to hold onto Dean, who was trying just as hard to disentangle himself.

Jack had to jump backwards when a hand flew at his ankle, but that brought him out of his stupor and he blinked into the between of teleporting, landing right in front of Cas, making his chosen father stumble backwards uttering a couple of decidedly un-angelic words, which he had obviously picked up from his association with the Winchesters.

"What on earth, son? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?"

The words spilled out in a rush of adrenaline: "I dented the Impala, Sam said to tell you 'Poughkeepsie for a few days' – what does that mean?"

"Poughkeepsie is code for 'drop everything and run'. Sam must be... wait, what? You dented the Impala?"

"Uhm yes?"

" Why was you driving the … Wait… Does Dean know? Are you ok?"

Jack blinked at the sudden stream of questions.  
"Well, I sort of just took it, and my ass is really sore, but, but after that, … you see…. *then* Dean found out about the dents and Sam told me to run, and…"

Cas drew a hand down his face wearily… "Ok, calm down, let's see…. you stole Dean's car, and dented it…. And now your ass is aching, which is from *before* Dean saw the dent…."

"Uhm, not dent. Dents."

Deep sigh. "Dents… really? Well, frankly, I think you were lucky that Sam was around…. Dammit…. Dean knows where I am. We better go stay with Sheriff Mills for a few days… Just until Dean calms down."

He shook his head and looked at this strange young man, whom he loved like a son. "You really are an idiot, aren't you?", he said fondly.

Don't worry, Dear Reader. Jody used those couple of days to teach Jack how to bake cherry pie, and Sam spent them helping Dean fix the dents in the Impala. Even Dean couldn't stay angry for long in the face of the combined peacemaking efforts of his younger brothers.


End file.
